


Scissors, Sewers, Sudden Angst

by redwoodroots



Category: Gravity Falls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-06 04:11:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20285197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redwoodroots/pseuds/redwoodroots
Summary: This picks up at the end of “The Hand that Rocked the Mabel.”  Gideon kidnaps Dipper, uses the ensuing "Missing Child" trauma to cozy up to Mabel while hurting Dipper for ways to make Mabel like him.  Dipper escapes, but is too injured and sick to get home...Sparkyfrootloops wondered what would've happened if Mabel hadn't shown up at the factory, and it was all a runaway angst train from there.





	1. It Begins

**Author's Note:**

> This picks up at the end of “The Hand that Rocked the Mabel.” Sparkyfrootloops wondered what would've happened if Mabel hadn't shown up at the factory, and it was all a runaway angst train from there. 
> 
> Be warned: this fic shows Gideon being a major jerkface, probably more than he ever would've been in canon. I actually like canon Gideon, because he showed real character growth, at least by the end of the show. THIS Gideon, however...doesn't. 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: Scissors, bullying, it's implied that Bad Things Happen to Dipper (not death but physical attacks, and it's strongly implied that Gideon tortures Dipper. I will not show that in this fic, but we'll see the aftermath.)
> 
> Read the warnings, grab some nachos, and prepare for major angst!

Dipper glanced down at his notebook, then up at the factory. Why would Toby want to meet here? Why not back at his office? He was pretty sure it was Gideon's family factory, and he doubted the Gleefuls would appreciate intruders. Then again, that was basically incentive to check it out. 

He stuffed the notebook into his vest, climbed the slope, and tested the door at the front of the factory. It pushed open the second he touched it. 

“Hello?” Dipper called, walking in. 

It was pretty dark inside, so he stepped in, letting his eyes adjust. It looked like the packaging and processing part of the factory. There was a window at the other side of the room, and a desk and a chair turned away to face the window, but the walls were crammed with shelves stacked so high they almost touched the ceiling. The part of the wall that wasn't covered in boxes was covered in shelves, which were crammed with more boxes and the occasional bottle of hair gel. 

“Toby?” 

His own voice echoed back at him. The guy had probably started making out with his Seandra cutout and forgotten to come. Dipper huffed and turned back to the door. 

It slammed shut. 

“Hey!” He ran at it and started pounding, but it didn't budge an inch, and when he tried the handles both front doors were locked. Suddenly an ominous creak sounded from behind him and he turned back. The desk chair slowly spun around. 

“Hello, friend.” 

“Ughh, Gideon.” 

The chair was normal-people sized, which made little Bleached Elvis look like a creepy ventriloquist dummy by comparison. Which was ironic because he had a smaller plushie of himself on his lap and was currently toying with it, raising its little plushie arms. 

He rolled his eyes. “Dude, you are not the Godfather, okay?”

“Dipper Pines,” Gideon continued smoothly, as if he hadn't heard. “How long you been livin' in this town? A week, two? You like it here? Enjoy the scenery?”

“What do you want from me, man?”

“Listen carefully, boy. This town has secrets you couldn't begin to comprehend.” 

_Like the meaning of the word 'no'?_ Out loud he said, “Is this about Mabel? I told you, she's not into you!” 

“Liar! YOU turned her against me!” 

Gideon got up so fast the chair spun back and banged against the wall, hard. Dipper jumped. Gideon grabbed his bolo tie and stalked across the floor. 

“She was mah pink dumplin'!” 

“Uh, you okay man?” 

Gideon stopped square in the middle of the room and pressed his right hand to his head. He still hadn't let go of the bolo tie and he was so red he looked like he was going to pass out. Dipper opened his mouth to say so when Gideon suddenly shrank. 

_Wait. What?_

He looked down. Gideon hadn't shrunk, Dipper was _floating three feet straight up!_

“Hey – WHOA!” 

He shot straight into the nearest shelf of merchandise. He smashed a cardboard box with his face and them tumbled to the floor, followed by a shower of boxes, boxes, and more boxes. He struggled to the top of the pile. Several of them had been split open and were spilling more mutant Gideon plushie dolls. He pulled another plushie from where it had squished under his vest. 

“Howdy!” it squeaked. 

_Did he just...?_

A shadow fell over him and he looked up. Gideon was standing in front of him, his pudgy face backlit in moonlight. He twirled his bolo tie lazily. 

“Reading minds isn't all Ah can do.” 

“B-but you're a – fake –”

“Oh tell me, Dipper: is _this_ fake?” He raised his hand. 

Every single piece of merchandise in a ten-foot radius suddenly levitated, rising higher and higher, casting everything in patchwork shadow. They twirled slowly as if contemplating where, exactly, on Dipper to strike. 

Dipper bolted. 

He shot for the front door, shouting when mugs and keychains pelted his back. A huge box full of lamb shears crashed in front of him and he veered with a shout as the shears clattered out, blades so sharp they sliced right through their packaging. Gideon stood in the middle of the room, laughing crazily. Everything he threw at Dipper bounced off or around him, and then Gideon simply picked it back up again for the next round, even the broken bits. Dipper ran and dodged through a hail of coasters, broken pottery, Gideon dolls, shirt pins, sewing kits, T-shirts, sneakers, sunglasses, and, for some reason, Gideon garden gnomes. Slivers of Gideon mugs sliced at his cheek and arms. Plastic gnomes hammered his shoulders and back. Plushies threatened to trip him with their squishy hair. A door, there had to be another door here, or maybe he could just get around Gideon and find cover under the desk – 

Gideon raised his hand. An entire cabinet loaded with boxes rose slowly into the air. Dipper yelled and jumped sideways as it hurtled through the air, crashing against the wall inches away. He landed wrong and fell hard against the wall, banging his head. Gideon laughed.

“Grunkle Stan was right about you!” Dipper shouted. “You are a monster!” 

“Your sister will be mine!” Gideon cackled. Then he pulled the string on his Gideon doll, which laughed an octave higher. 

“Awww! Who's a cute little guy? You are!” 

“No you are!” piped the doll. 

No, no, and no. Dipper was not going down to some guy who got distracted with his own poofy-haired plushie. 

He glanced down. The boxes from the cabinet had split open and they'd all been filled with Gideon-brand sports equipment. He grabbed a bat and charged for Gideon, aiming for his dumb suit-encased guts. 

Gideon's head jerked up. He dropped the doll, grabbed his tie and swung his hand. The bat tore out of Dipper's grip and hurled Dipper straight up, levitating him ten feet above the floor. 

“She's never gonna date you, man!” 

“That's a lie!” Gideon spat. Something seemed to catch his eye and a slow, evil smile spread over his face, slicker than oil. “And Ah'm going to make sure you never lie to me again, friend...” 

Dipper's hands and legs snap together and he's lifted several feet into the air. Dipper struggled but his body was held rigidly by an invisible boa constrictor; Dipper could barely turn his head or even breathe. A sudden ripping noise made him glance down. Gideon had ripped a pair of lamb shears right out of their cardboard box. 

And he was aiming the scissors at Dipper. 

Dipper struggled harder. “The heck are you gonna do, give me a haircut?” he panted. “Let me go, Gideon! Hey! What are you doing?!”

The scissors stopped a foot from his face, close enough that Dipper could see the tiny screw in the joint slowly coming out. The blades snicked open, too wide, like a snake – then whipped through the air. Dipper yelled as they scored his face, sliced into his scalp. Bits of cut hair touched his neck and he shuddered. 

“That's not funny! Hey – stop it, stop!” The scissor blades were circling his face, coming closer. Dipper couldn't even turn his head to get away. His heart pounded. “Let me go, you crazy psycho! Get those things off me! What the heck makes you think this will make Mabel like you?”

Gideon's eyes almost glowed with crazy. “She'll like me,” he said, softly, silkily. “She'll love me. And to do that, Dipper, you're going to tell me _everything Ah need to know._” The blades flashed. 

He screamed. 

Mabel biked up the road. Bud had seemed nice enough, in a creepy car sales guy kind of way, and he'd said Gideon had gone up to the factory to check inventory. She wondered guiltily if Gideon was still going to redesign the Gideon Doll(TM) with different outfits. She'd offered to make little special-order sweaters for them before he'd asked her out. Maybe offering again would help? She was good with sweaters, but apparently really bad with break-ups. When Dipper was back from meeting with Toby she'd have to apologize for making him do it. He wasn't the one who'd gotten her into this mess, she was. And it was up to the Power of Mabel to fix it. She just needed to mentally gear up for it!

She switched gears on her bike and opened her mouth, ready to unleash a vocals-only version of _Eye of the Jungle Cat_, when something shiny and white caught her eye. She rounded a bend on the path and saw Gideon walking down the road. 

“Gideon!” she said, pulling up.

Instantly his face instantly broke into a huge grin. “Mabel! Mah marshmallow! What're you doing here?” 

“Gideon, we have to talk.” She hopped off the bike. He turned to her with big blue kitten eyes and her tummy twisted. “I – I'm sorry, Gideon, but I can't be your marshmallow,” she rushed out. “I needed to be honest and tell you that myself.” 

He was quiet.

“Gideon...?” 

He looked up. There was an expression on his face she couldn't quite read, but his eyes were bright, like he was holding back tears. 

She took his hands. “I'm sorry, Gideon, please don't be sad. We can still be makeup buddies! Wouldn't you like that?” 

He smiled a little and squeezed her hands. “Ah really would, mah sweet. And Ah hope you know you will always hold a special place in mah heart, and that Ah will always be there for you, if anything ever happens.”

She beamed at him. “Same here, Gideon. C'mon, I can walk you home and we can talk fashion, specifically those special-order doll sweaters. What do you think, should we do them customizable, or like a special 'Surprise Me' sweater where people get random sweaters? We can be as bold as we want with those! I'm talkin' sequins _literally made of other sequins!_” 

He laughed. “Ah might have to order a few of those for mahself! We could make a commercial for them, too.”

“Really?! Is there gonna be a jingle!? We could sing a jingle!” 

“Absolutely, jingles are a great way to brainwash vapid consumers.” 

“Huh?”

“Nothing!” 

She turned her bike and they chatted and laughed as they walked down the road, heading for home, away from the chill of the falling night.


	2. Scissors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: Gideon threatens Dipper with scissors. Doesn't actually touch him but comes very close on purpose.

Dipper woke up slowly. His head hurt, right down to the roots of his hair. His skull felt tender and bruised, and his brain throbbed, like it was getting pounded or stabbed. An extra red-hot knife of pain pierced his temple and he gasped quietly. He must've gotten a concussion somewhere between getting hammered with merchandise and hitting the wall with his face. Weren't you not supposed to sleep? But his head had hurt so badly. At least he was awake now.

After...after, he had a vague memory of Gideon moving a cabinet and opening a trap door in the floor. It was marked with words, probably 'basement' or 'Chamber of Psychos.' Gideon had levitated him in. The room was about ten feet square, with an earth floor, boxy machinery shoved along one wall, and pipes running along an adjacent wall, connecting the machine to the factory above. Gideon had handcuffed Dipper to a pipe with his arms behind his back, then left. The pipe was so low that Dipper couldn't stand up; he'd fallen asleep kneeling. He had no idea how long it had been. The trap door above didn't let in any light. Or maybe it did, but the cabinet had been moved back over it. 

Another stab of pain seared Dipper's brain. Definitely concussed. 

He took stock. Stinging lacerations all over his face, neck, arms, and legs. Vest was gone. Shirt and shorts sported fresh, jagged holes. The fashion choice of every recently imprisoned preteen. 

He swallowed. He didn't really want to think about it, but...this was a prison. Gideon had basically kidnapped him. The thought made his stomach turn cold. 

_BZZZZZZ!_

“GAH!” 

The machine buzzed to life and he startled badly. Fresh waves of pain smashed through his skull. The machine paused, clicked a few times, then started grinding and banging like someone trying to cut rocks with a chainsaw. The sound was so painful on Dipper's concussion that he almost screamed. His mouth watered like he was going to throw up. He leaned sideways as bile crawled up his throat, but he willed it down. 

“What the flaming cheese boodles,” he gasped, tears running down his cheeks. A small red light, like the one on an old cable box, blinked on the machine's upper left corner. A line of corroded text read _Air Con i ione_. The vents on top began to steam and the metal grew warm. Dipper scooted as far away as he could, which was only a few feet. Why hadn't he heard this racket last night? Unless it was some kind of automatic timer, and it only went on when the workers came in – 

The workers!

“HELP!” Dipper shouted, and immediately regretted it. His own voice vibrated in his skull and even down his spine like someone was scraping a steel nail file on his teeth. He gasped and leaned back, propping his head against the wall. “Help! Somebody! HELLO!” 

He took a break, then shouted again. And again. And again. He yelled until he almost threw up, but it didn't seem to matter. The air conditioner swallowed the sound, but even if it hadn't, the floor of the factory might be soundproofing his voice anyway. He guessed the machine vented clean air down here, which was definitely good news, but it also heated the place beyond belief. Dipper was quickly soaked in his own sweat. He turned his face turned from the heat, trying not to let his wrists or arms touch the pipes. They were getting painfully hot. 

He rested his forehead gingerly on his knees. He'd have to keep shouting for help. For all he knew, Gideon had left him down here. But Mabel would find him, right? He was okay for now. Hot and in pain, but he was okay. He'd just wait for Mabel. People knew where he'd gone, where he'd disappeared. Mabel would come. She'd find him. 

Mabel was frantic. 

She ran to the phone in the kitchen. Then the one in the living room. Back to the kitchen. Peered out the window. 

Dipper had been gone since last night. Nobody had seen him, not even Soos, who sometimes liked to sleep with his eyes open behind the stuffed dodo in the lobby. And when she called Toby she found out Dipper never even made it to meet with him. He'd left the house, then – what? Had he gotten lost somewhere? Ventured into the forest to photograph weirdness and never come out? Gotten hurt? Gotten hurt and _dead?!_

Candy and Grenda sat at the table in the living room, watching the phone. 

“DON'T WORRY, MABEL! HE'LL COME BACK!” Grenda said. 

“He might have just left super early this morning,” Candy added. “Based on the bags under his eyes, I put him at one, two hours of sleep a night. He could've come and gone before anyone even noticed.”

Mabel stared at the phone. “No, no, I put a big pile of leftover Mabel Brownies on that one creaky stair for our pet possum and the pile wasn't even _touched_ when I woke up this morning.”

“Mabel, your brownies are basically cinder blocks with sprinkles.”

“He _has_ to be out there!” 

She turned to sprint for the kitchen again when a rough hand grabbed her shoulder. 

“Whoa, Mabel! You're wearin' out the floor!” 

“Grunkle Stan, what if Dipper – are you _working_ today?!” She pulled away from him. He was all dressed up in his usual Mr. Mystery outfit, right down to his spiffy red bow tie. “Dipper is mi – Dipper isn't here, the police won't look for another 36 hours, and you're still going to work?!” 

“Kid, Dipper's probably wandering the woods hunting the Sasscrotch or something. Also, I'm gonna need all the disposable cameras in your possession.”

Mabel eyed him suspiciously. 

Five minutes later, Mabel, Candy, and Grenda were crammed along the Gift Shop window, watching Stan greet tourists as they stepped off the bus. He spread his arms, gravelly voice carrying straight through the glass. 

“Welcome, one and all, to a world of mystery! You just won the Grand Tourist Lottery by being the first bus with, uh, round wheels! Today's tour will be a scavenger hunt for a mysterious creature hidden deep within the forest – the terrible, the pale, the sweaty and sleep-deprived NERDIPPER!”

Everyone gasped. 

“That's right, folks! And for a small fee of ten – fif – twenty bucks each, you can buy one of these ultra-rare cursed cameras! The Nerdipper can only be photographed with this extremely rare disposable film, which we can develop for you for the low cost of fifty dollars per photo!”

Instantly every tourist scrambled for their cash, shouting at Stan to take their money. Mabel squeezed her cheeks. 

“Aw, Grunkle Stan!” 

“That was very clever,” Candy said, adjusting her glasses. 

“YEAH!” Grenda bellowed. “IF HE DOES THAT WITH ALL THE TOURISTS, WE'LL HAVE HUNDREDS OF PEOPLE SEARCHING THE FOREST EVERY HOUR!”

“Then it's our job to search the city,” Mabel said, hopping off the counter. “Candy, Grenda, we'll need supplies. A map to keep track of everywhere we search, a notebook to record all our eyewitnesses' reports, and snacks to keep ourselves from turning feral.” 

“LIKE THE ALLIGATORS IN THE SEWERS!” Grenda shouted. “THEY TRIED TO RECRUIT LANCELOT FOR THEIR ARMY ONCE, BUT WE DON'T SUPPORT THE MILITARY-INDUSTRIAL COMPLEX!”

They stuffed everything they thought they'd need into Mabel's backpack, charged through the house, flung open the front door – and stopped short. 

“Gideon?”

“Mabel!” He smiled stepped back, gesturing behind him to miniature gilded carriage pulled by Gompers and loaded with multicolored yarn. “Look! Ah bought every color yarn they sell in this town and brought it straight to you. Ah thought we could talk Special Order Sweater ideas!”

“Oh gosh Gideon, I'm so sorry, I completely forgot, but we can't.” 

“Why not?”

Her stomach flipped like it was trying to join an acrobats team. She swallowed.

“Mabel?” 

“Dipper...hasn't been seen for a while,” she said finally. “I mean, it's probably nothing, he's probably just – nerding out, or, or fell asleep in a tree stalking a vampire boyfriend for me, but we can't find him and we really really need to.” 

“He's missing?”

Mabel's lungs filled with ice. 

“UGH! DO _NOT_ SAY THE 'M' WORD!” Grenda scolded. 

Candy tugged at her sleeve. “Mabel?”

“I...it's fine, I just –”

Gideon stepped forward and took her hand. “Mabel, Ah understand. We can save the sweaters for another time. Should we search the forest? Ah have six all-terrain golf carts we could use.”

She wiped the tears from his eyes. “No, no. Stan's searching the forest. We're gonna search the town.”

“Do you know where he was headed?”

“He was supposed to meet Toby Determined, but Toby said he never made it. We figured we'd check every place between here and Toby's office first, then everywhere else. While watching out for the cops,” she added. “Apparently falsely accusing someone of murder 'wastes valuable police resources.'”

Candy scoffed. “I hacked their police scanner when I was six. They were just annoyed they missed the cantaloupe thing.”

“Ah'll come with you,” Gideon said firmly. “Ah know how to open doors in this town. Even people who won't want to talk to you will talk to me...and Ah'll make sure they help you any way they can.” 

Mabel smiled. “Thanks, Gideon. You're a great friend.” 

Gideon strolled through the forest, the night air cool on his cheeks. It had been a long, satisfying, highly productive and Mabel-filled day. He only just managed not to whistle. 

He reached the factory and let himself in, fumbling a bit with the package under his arm. The staff had long since gone home. He locked the door and set down the bundle. From up here, the air conditioner hummed quietly as it pumped cold air through the building. Silence fell when he shut it off. Complete, utter silence. He probably could have kept a whole circus down there and no one would hear a thing. 

He took a moment, dusting a speck of dirt off his tux, smoothing his perfect hair. Then he closed his hand over the amulet. 

Several shiny lamb shears sailed out of their brand new boxes and hovered obediently at his side. With a simple wave, the heaviest cabinet on the right-hand wall lifted up and away, revealing the very faint outline of the basement door. He levitated the package, paused for effect, and swung the door open. A blast of wet, sour air hit him in the face, followed by yelling. 

“DOWN HERE! I'M DOWN HERE!” 

“Ah know,” Gideon snapped, and the voice abruptly cut off. Gideon grinned like a very fat cat and levitated himself down, along with the package and scissors. 

Dipper was chained exactly where Gideon had left him, kneeling as he should be and glaring through sullen eyes. Gideon was pleased to see that his pawn looked decidedly worse for wear. Bruises had shown up on his arms and legs, he had a truly spectacular black eye, and his skin was red, no doubt from the heat of the air conditioner. Which explained why Dipper's clothes were drenched in sweat. 

He pinched his nose. “Hoo-ee! Y'all sure do have a sweating problem.” 

“You locked me in a _furnace!_” Dipper snarled. 

Gideon flicked his fingers. The shears snicked open in unison, pointing at Dipper, who flinched back so hard he banged his arm on a pipe with an audible thunk. Gideon smirked. 

“You – you can't keep me here forever,” Dipper said. 

“Oh, Ah don't intend to! Just long enough for me to win mah sweet Mabel's heart. Of course, how long that takes is up to you. Hungry?”

Dipper opened his mouth, but his stomach answered for him, growling loudly. 

Gideon's smile widened. “Ah thought so.” 

The package floated over and Gideon opened it one-handed, taking out a can of Pitt cola and a styrofoam container from Burger Boy Jr. He hadn't even needed to buy it; he'd simply walked in and they'd fallen over themselves to serve him, begging for autographs, like the stupid little sheep they were. 

Dipper's eyes followed him hungrily as he unwrapped the burger and fries. His stomach growled again, longer, and Dipper cringed but still didn't take his eyes off the food. Gideon grinned, picked up a fry – and popped it into his mouth. 

“Hey!”

“Too salty,” Gideon decided, licking his fingers. “Ah might have the cook fired.”

“What is _wrong_ with you?” Dipper shouted. “HELP! SOMEBODY HEL –”

Steel flashed and a pair of sheers embedded two inches deep in the wall by Dipper's head. Dipper jerked sideways with a nice little squeal, hitting the floor with an elbow, and under the redness, his face had gone white with fear. 

Gideon's voice was low and dangerous. “Don't forget what happens if you step out of line, boy.” The other shears rotated slowly in the air, glinting like knives as they opened and closed. 

Dipper didn't move.

Gideon smiled and selected another fry. “Now. You were going to tell me all about Mabel.” 

Gideon left the factory shortly after 1 AM. Although he'd only eaten half the meal, he was pleasantly full, and Dipper wasn't. This gave him an enormous sense of satisfaction. Sure, the boy hadn't actually caved yet, but he would eventually, and Gideon needed him awake and alive to spill the beans. 

Well, mostly alive. 

In fact, things worked out better this way. The longer Dipper took to cave, the more time he was gone, and the more late nights Gideon would have. Gideon could blame any signs of lack of sleep on his worry for Dipper, which would endear him even more to his sweet precious Mabel. 

He sauntered home, whistling soundlessly, planning for tomorrow.


	3. Missing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Description of a search for a missing child.

Dipper had been missing for three days. 

Normally the police would have waited for the first 48 hours to pass before filing a missing person's report, but with a few words from Gideon, Dipper had been entered as legally missing 13 hours since he'd been gone. The police had searched the town while Mabel, Gideon, Candy, and Grenda went on foot and posted Missing posters on anything that held still long enough, including Mayor Beffuflefumpter. (The guy at the copy store had cried with joy when he got their order – then cried for real when Grenda stepped on his foot.) 

After the town was thoroughly scoured, Blubs, Durland, Soos, and Dan expanded the search to the highways, reasoning that someone could have forced Dipper into a car somewhere between the Shack and the Factory...and then just driven away with him. The crime would have left no trace at all. Blubs and Durland sent Dipper's information to neighboring towns and checked in with them every hour, just in case there were any new reports of someone matching Dipper's description. By now, everyone in the county knew what he looked like; Seandra had picked up the story and interviewed Mabel live as she and her friends searched the Falls. A “Dipper Watch” segment stayed live at the bottom-right corner of the news from then on, and Seandra frequently updated viewers on the search and flashed Dipper's photo every ten minutes. 

At the end of the day, Gideon left to go home, but Candy and Grenda spent the night at the Shack. The plan had been to take turns staying awake, so someone could keep a lookout for Dipper or wake the others if the phone rang. But none of them could sleep. Especially after Candy looked up the statistics for finding missing kids the longer they'd been gone. She refused to tell them about it, but the look on her face was enough.

Stan checked on them at 1 AM and found them staring at each other, hollow-eyed and haunted. He brought them all down to the kitchen for ice cream and scrambled meat. The combination and resulting nausea distracted them, at least for a little while. 

On day four, Gideon led them straight to the stage on Main Street and whipped the entire town into a Dipper-finding frenzy. They searched streets, alleys, back alleys, dumpsters, stores, outhouses, mailboxes, their own cars. Tambry's tweets brought newspaper reporters from all over the county and Gideon then announced a formal alliance between the Mystery Shack and the Tent of Telepathy. He posed with Stan in front of all the cameras, somehow managing to shake Stan's hand without actually touching him, then posing again with Mabel. She held up her brother's picture. The cameras clicked and flashed, light reflecting off the tears that streamed down her cheeks. 

By noon, everyone with any viable mode of transportation in a 30-mile radius had driven in to join the search. People flooded the roads and swarmed through the streets. Every stone was unturned, and quite a few dogs and old ladies, too. Local restaurants and public restrooms strained to meet the sudden demand. Occasionally a searcher went missing, only to turn up later at the history museum, confused but otherwise okay. Because of this, though, the search was strictly limited to the town, not the forest beyond. 

As the day waned, the search swept across town and came right up to Gideon's factory. Although they'd already searched everywhere around it, Candy suggested looking inside, and Mabel agreed. Toby nervously objected, repeating that he'd never even gone to the factory – he had the security tapes to prove it – but Gideon insisted that they look inside. After all, he said, Dipper hadn't liked him from the beginning. Sure, Gideon locked up after he'd checked the inventory, but it was possible that Dipper had snuck past him and snuck in to find proof that Gideon wasn't psychic. Gideon's employees might not have even noticed he was there, not if he'd gotten hurt or stuck in some odd little nook or cranny. 

They'd gone up to the factory. It was the last place in the town left to look, the last place Dipper was supposed to have been. Gideon unlocked it and told everyone to take whatever merchandise they wanted, as a gift for helping the search. Mabel hugged him as hard as she could. 

They looked. Under desks, on high shelves, in boxes, which were quickly emptied of plushie dolls and plastic lawn Gideons. The factory was too small to fit everyone inside, so more people searched the surrounding area again, and a few even checked the roof. Everyone called Dipper's name, Manly Dan's voice grating over all the rest. They searched until the sun lowered and lowered and finally broke like an egg yolk against the granite cliffs, until the shadows of the surrounding forest chased them back. 

Gideon and Mabel were last to leave. The factory had been stripped bare of everything but the heaviest furniture – three sets of book shelves and a heavy desk. Even the empty cardboard boxes were gone. It was just bare walls and roof pipes. There was nowhere Dipper could have hidden, if he was there. If he'd even come there at all. But this was the last place they had left. If he wasn't here...if he'd been hurt in the forest, or kidnapped and driven for miles and miles, then by now...by now he could be... Mabel left the factory, finally, slowly, sobbing so hard she could barely walk, as Gideon gently guided her away. 

The boy in the basement sobbed, too. He had heard the noise even over the air conditioner, heard them calling him over and over. He'd shouted back until his throat bled, but the machine and the thick floor swallowed his cries. When they were gone he folded in on himself until his head touched the earthen floor, gasping. His body was too dehydrated for tears.


	4. Sewers

Dipper stopped trying to escape. 

Not that there had been much to try anyway. Gideon had taken him to the bathroom a few times, but always surrounded by scissors. The handcuffs were too strong and the pipe was bolted to the wall. Dipper had even tried digging at the dirt floor with his heels, but with his arms chained up, there wasn't really a point. And after hearing Mabel, screaming for her, hearing her leave...there didn't seem to be any point at all. 

Dipper stared dully at the red light on the air conditioner. His blood thudded like sludge in his veins. Every few minutes his heart would pump erratically, like a small, panicked animal. The light seemed to pulse along with it. 

The air was heavy and thick. Dipper opened his mouth, tried to breathe some of the moisture onto his tongue. He was so thirsty. The light was small and round, with faint circular ridges in the plastic, like an eye. The air conditioner banged and thundered in the dark. It was an eye, a greedy, sucking eye, waiting for him to die, like the monster in the Odyssey. A cyclops. Just grabbed him up and trapped him in its cave for a midnight snack, the whole place heated like an oven. Didn't even need to cook him. The cyclops’ red eye gleamed and its thick fingers squeezed tight enough to crack bone, it shoved Dipper whole into its mouth, its molars crashing around him, he couldn’t breathe, he was being crushed in the hot and the dark, he was dying — 

“Agh!” 

He lurched forward. His arm had hit the searing pipe behind him. Had he passed out? The pipe burn didn't feel too bad, so maybe it hadn't been for long. He leaned forward, panting. He didn't want to be asleep when Gideon got here, even though he knew it wouldn't make a difference. He didn't want to be more vulnerable than he already was. 

And he didn't want to see how Gideon would wake him up. 

He groaned and rested his chin on his knees. Little scraps of bloody cloth were spread over the dirt, some from his shirt, some from his shorts. Like a really morbid constellation. At least he wasn't wearing his vest down here; he'd be even hotter. Could’ve used the journal, though. Summoned an actual cyclops to get him out. Or a brosquatch. Sure, it would eat him, too, but being a snack had to hurt less than being so thirsty. Just breathing felt like dragging blades down the back of his throat. He'd even drink Mabel juice right about now. Ha, imagine the look on Mabel's face – 

Suddenly his heart spasmed, pumping shallowly, and he sucked for air. It took several minutes to catch his breath, and when it was over he felt shaky and nauseous. 

What he really needed was something that could tunnel right into of this stupid prison. Right there in the middle where that heap of dirt was. There was still the little matter of the handcuffs, but anything that could dig that far would probably have sharp claws anyway. They'd dig right up in the middle of the room. The dirt at the top of the mound would start sinking a little and then get tossed out, some of it hitting Dipper's legs. The rest of the dirt would make a ring around the hole like a donut, and then a fuzzy peach-colored mole thing would pop out and wiggle its weird fleshy whiskers and say – 

“Oi, it downright reeks in here, it does!” 

Dipper blinked. 

A second mole thing popped up, slightly smaller than the first. “Blast it, Ozzy, you dug the wrong way!” 

“Come off it, Dave, I got us 'round the Shifter's tunnels, didn't I? Sides, you're the one with the map!” 

“I ain't the one bloody diggin'!” 

“What the heck,” Dipper said, or tried to say. What came out instead was a horrible rasping noise. 

The moles' heads swiveled like owls and their eyes popped. “Human! ATTACK!” 

Dozens and dozens of mole things poured out of the hole like a tide of supersized Furbies, each armed with utility belts and spear-like shovels. Dipper shoved back with a soundless yell and banged his head against the wall. He was instantly surrounded, the shovels at his throat. 

“Wait, wait!” he wheezed. “I dig in peace! Or whatever! Seriously!” 

“Ha! Come to spy on us, have you?” Dave demanded. “Come to report our movements to the enemy?”

“Enemy?” he managed. Talking _hurt_. 

“Alligators, boy, alligators! You humans built sewers in our tunnels and those overgrown lizards moved right in. Took up the best bits of real estate, they did! Takes me twenty minutes to get to work now!” 

“Not to mention their military-industrial complex,” Ozzy added. “As if there weren’t better ways to boost the economy than hiring people to make weapons. Making shovels, now, _that’s_ a worthy cause.” 

There was a chorus of agreement. 

“We’re two minutes from attacking their headquarters,” Dave continued, “and what a funny thing to find _you_ here, spying on our movements!” 

Dipper sputtered. “I’m _chained to a wall!_” 

“The perfect ruse!” 

“Excuse me!?” 

“Oi, Dave!” called a mole from the back. “Shouldn’t we get moving? Main line’s going to open in ten minutes!” 

“Oh aye,” said another mole. “Wouldn’t want to get caught in that.” 

“Why don’t we time these things with a bit more wiggle room?” 

“Had plenty of wiggle room, Ozzy wiggled in the wrong direction.” 

“Shut it, Ralph! You don’t like it, you dig the tunnel!” 

The mole things started funneling down the hole. 

“No - wait!” Dipper shrieked, voice cracking. “The - the alligators! They kidnapped me!”

That stopped them. The smaller mole turned his beady eyes on Dipper. “They did, did they?” 

“Yes! Because, uh, I know things! About their military! If you get me out, I’ll tell you everything! _Please!_”

“A double-agent, eh?” Dave said slowly. “Alright, mate. We’ll take you with us.” 

“You – you will?”

“Oh, yes. In fact, you would make an excellent hostage!”

“What?” 

“Cut 'im loose, boys!” Dave cried. 

Three extra-sharp spear-shovels arced through the air. Dipper shouted and ducked. There was a sharp metal clang and the spears sliced through the cuff links, biting deep into the pipe. There was a hiss of scalding steam and the cuffs were still around his wrists, but his arms swung forward, free. He scrambled to his feet and lunged for the ladder. Dozens and dozens of hands dragged him back, the tips of their spears scraping his legs and stomach as they dragged him toward the hole. 

“No!” Dipper shouted. Terror crashed through his skull and his head spun. “No, no, I can't do this again, LET ME GO!” 

But the mole people were far too strong. They dragged him down the hole and into the tunnels below. 

Dipper couldn’t see anything, but the mass of rodents crushed his limbs to his sides and surged through the tunnel with him in the middle. It was like being swallowed by a disturbingly furry throat. He kicked and thrashed, but even he could tell his kicks were weaker than a baby bunny’s. He opened his mouth to scream and got a mouthful of mole hair. 

Just when he thought he couldn’t breathe, they were pouring through a small opening and into a huge pipe ten feet around, with cement shelves along the side just above two feet of raw sewage.

“HALT!” someone shouted, and the mole people stopped short so fast they actually dropped him, straight into the filthy water.

For a second it didn’t really register. Then time skipped and Dipper was crouched with his whole head in the sewage, in the actual sewage, and he knew he should be worried about diseases but he was sucking it down like he’d die if he didn’t - which at that point he was pretty sure he would. 

A small hand gripped his hair and jerked his head up, gasping. The mole people were faced off with a group of angry-looking alligators, all of them armed to the actual teeth with spiky-looking armor and, for some reason, light bulbs. At least that explained how Dipper could see. 

“Enough rabble-rousing, Dave!” the lead alligator snapped. “This is the third time this week, and some of us have actual jobs to do, in case you haven’t noticed! Either get lost or get with the program!” 

“Ha! We’ll never support the military-industrial complex, no matter how many spies you plant! You don’t even make shovels!” 

“We like to think we’ve surpassed Bronze Age technology, thank you very much. Besides, we didn’t plant a spy!” 

“Then what do you make of this!?” Dave said, and dragged Dipper forward. 

It was the worst possible timing. The sewage hit his stomach, revolted, and surged up his esophagus like a high-velocity geyser. He convulsed, spewing sewage and bile. Dave shrieked and let go. Dipper hit the water, still vomiting. 

The alligators leaped back with a shout. “You hot-blooded gophers! That’s intentional pollution!” 

“Oh but it's just fine for you to pollute our soil with your toxic waste!” 

“We dump most of that stuff into the river! And anyway it’s for a worthy cause - our industries create jobs, benefits, and decent salaries for everybody. And you’d know used your one collective brain cell for half a second instead of playing in the dirt! Besides, you have claws! Those shovels are _redundant!_” 

Dave' turned purple. “HAVE AT THEE!” 

Ozzy grabbed Dipper by the back of his shirt and chucked him at the ‘gaters like a bomb. They scattered and he hit the water, rolling until something hard and square stabbed him in the side, then a scaled foot came down on his head. 

When he fought his way to the surface, the moles and alligators were fighting tooth, claw, shovel, and lightbulb - which had an extra flash function that stunned any mole in a one-foot radius. The fight was fierce and close-range, churning up the water. The moles had speed and pointy objects, but the alligators’ hides were tough and they wielded their tails like flexible clubs. 

Dipper struggled through the water until he reached one of the cement shelves. He heaved himself out. There was a whistle and a tail came down two inches from his hand, so hard it cracked the cement. Dipper yelled and scrambled back, hitting the wall - and the handcuff still locked on his wrist caught him short. He looked up. A metal bar…? 

No. A ladder. 

_A ladder to the surface._

He threw himself at it and started climbing. The rungs were three feet apart and his fingers were way too weak to trust his weight, but if he hooked his elbow over each rung he could still pull himself up. The top was twenty feet above him, reaching past the tunnel’s ceiling. He wasn’t sure how he’d lift the manhole but he’d figure it out. Five rungs to go. Four. Three - 

_Clunk_. 

There was no reason the sound should have echoed that way. It wasn’t even a particularly loud clunk. But everyone - gaters, rodents, and Dipper - turned to see the source. Several meters down the tunnel, there was a low, ominous rumbling. 

“The main line’s open!” Dave shrieked. “RUN!” 

Instantly the gaters and moles abandoned the fight, rushing in all directions to get away. A split-second later water gushed into the main line, a massive, foaming snake of thunder and weight - and it was coming straight for him! 

With a cry Dipper launched straight up as high as he could, but water surged up the ladder and hit his legs, wrenching him away. The sheer force of it pummeled his body. It spun him mercilessly, banged him into pipe walls, metal grates and the occasional gater tail. It forced into his nose and mouth, burned in his lungs. Violent blackness lashed at his brain. 

Just when he thought he’d pass out, the pressure suddenly released. Dipper fell through the air, still flailing, and hit more water. His head smacked off the pipe again. No, that was too soft to be a pipe, that felt like _mud…_

He stroked with everything he had until his head burst through the surface. He coughed and immediately sank down again. Then his knee hit a slope and he dug for purchase, dragging himself from the water. His limbs gave out under him and he collapsed, trembling badly, but his head and arms were clear and he could breathe. 

He was lying on a grassy bank, half-submerged in a river. There was a metal pipe off to his left, spilling murky water laced with vivid green chemicals. The sewage had dumped him into the toxic waste river, not even three miles from the Shack. And up ahead, past the slope of the river bank, he saw a house, and...a cylinder? Silo? Was this the Sprotts farm? 

“Help,” he croaked. His voice was thin as paper. “Water.” 

Something was wrong with the light. Everything was turning black and gray. Waves of static rolled over his vision. He was so thirsty, but for a second he couldn’t remember why. He was in water up to his armpits, so he shouldn’t be thirsty. Maybe he was just tired. His whole body hurt so badly. If he just closed his eyes for a second...

He heard a rustle and then a snuffling noise nearby. Then scissors sliced into his arm. 

“NO!” His eyes flew open. 

A wolf had him in its jaws and was dragging him out of the water - but it was the wrong side of the river, back into the forest. No, no, it couldn’t eat him, not now, the Shack was right down the road, he was too close to home to die!

He tried to dig at the gums with his free hand but his limbs weren’t working right. His hand flopped at the wolf’s face, then scraped along the ground. He couldn’t lift it anymore. He couldn’t even see through all the static. Roaring filled his ears. This was it, it was going to eat him, he was really going to die…

“What have you got there, old boy?” 

The wolf dropped him with a thunk. Dipper gasped for breath, shaking. A huge shape looming over him. 

“My, my,” said the shape. “Those are some nasty-looking cuts. Not to worry, little warrior, we’ll have you patched up in no time.” 

Dipper tried to speak, but nothing came out. The ground tilted under him, and Dipper pitched headlong into the endless black.


	5. Recovery

Dipper floated slowly up through layers of darkness. It felt like it took a long time, but he didn’t know how long. He didn’t know much of anything. He was just an awareness, no body, no weight, in the middle of a vast nothing. Sometimes he didn’t seem to go anywhere at all. Eventually, though, he rose just below the surface of consciousness, in that liminal space between waking and sleep. He was used to that. He often spent most of his school days in that state, or at least homeroom, especially after pulling all-nighters on conspiracy boards. 

But this time it felt different, like there was something he needed to remember, or there were new sensations just out of reach. He drew himself a little closer to waking up. Something smelled weird. Sort of spicy, but also rotting. Or...plant-y. He sniffed. He needed to blow his nose, but just the thought exhausted him. His head felt tender and stuffed with cotton. This wasn’t school. Maybe Mom and Dad let him stay home. Was he sick? It felt like the worst flu ever. His body was indescribably heavy, heavier than stone, even his eyelids. So he left them closed. He only knew he’d fallen asleep when the sound of his own snoring startled him awake. He really, really needed to blow his nose. He dragged his eyelids open. 

There was rough rock overhead. It was dark, curved, and speckled with stalactites. Had he always had that in his bedroom? He was pretty sure Mabel would’ve covered them in glitter by now. One of them even had a bat hanging from the tip. It opened one eye and squeaked at him, like it was scolding him for snoring. 

“Sorry,” Dipper said, and immediately regretted it. It was like he’d scraped acid-covered sandpaper down the back of his throat. He lurched upright, gasping airlessly, curling in on himself with a squelch -

Wait. A squelch? 

He pulled back, blinking away the dizziness. He’d been lying between several layers of incredibly soft blankets. They’d fallen away when he sat up, and his arms were covered in sticky orange sap, wrapped with bark from birch trees. That explained the weird smell. He pulled the blankets back farther. More wraps covered his torso and legs. Whoever had done their nature-healy stuff on him had taken off his clothes, but at least he still had his underwear. 

And the handcuffs around his wrists. 

Memories slammed through his skull. Gideon, the blades, the tunnels, starving, dying - 

He shuddered violently and scrambled to his feet, then staggered back until he hit the wall. The headrush blinded him and he doubled over, heart pounding wildly, struggling to breathe. Exactly how long had he been asleep to get this weak? What if Gideon found him like this? Dipper didn’t even know where he was or which way to run and his legs were shaking so badly he thought he’d collapse and he wouldn’t be able to get back up!

Immediately Stan’s voice rang through his head. _Ha! Shoulda been on that commercial, kid! Have some canned meat. It’s apocalicious!_

The thought caught him by surprise and he gasped out a laugh. The fear gripping his guts loosened and his breathing steadied. 

He straightened up slowly, leaning heavily against the wall. It was definitely a cave, bat included, and his blanket-bed was about ten feet in from the entrance. After that, the ground outside dropped away sharply, and the sweeping treetops of the valley spread over the horizon beyond. Had to be a mountain cave, then. Crows and hawks flew between the trees, and every now and then something big moved through the forest, parting several redwoods at once. THe motion sent flocks of sparrows springing into the pure blue sky. 

Dipper watched it for a while. All those trees. That open sky. 

Eventually Dipper turned to check the rest of the cave. It extended pretty deep into the mountain, but he could make out some boulders, some ominously large bones, and a petrified stump holding a - was that a _radio?_

He pushed off the wall, carefully, and staggered over. He wasn’t hallucinating, it really was a radio, out here in the middle of nowhere. Like someone had clipped out a random piece of the mall and stuck it in the wilderness, determined to give every experience its own pop culture soundtrack. There was even already a tape inside. He pushed play. 

“_You can jig,/You can twirl,/Experience life in a whirl,/Oo-ooh disco girl, coming through, that girl is youuu. Oo-ooh! Oo-ooh!_” 

“I know this song,” Dipper said, stunned. “I love this song…”

“You do?” 

He turned - and fell back with a scream. A huge bear filled the mouth of the cave, all rippling muscle and sharp claws and heads, heads everywhere, sprouting from its shoulders and neck and armpits and waist like carnivorous zits. 

“Stay back!” Dipper grabbed the nearest object - the empty cassette case - and brandished it in front of him. “I mean it! I - I have to be hallucinating!” 

“No, no, my fur really is this glossy. Special shampoo, you know.” 

“Not that! The heads! There’s like, what, six? Six heads?!” 

“Well, at least _your_ head can count. And I see you’ve resumed your place among the bipeduals.” He lumbered in and took a small bundle from the mouth of one of his heads, depositing it on the blankets where DIpper had been. “Here. You’ve fought quite hard against that fever, little warrior. Come and eat.” 

Dipper swallowed and glanced at the bones. 

“I’m not going to eat you. Those aren’t even mine, they’re from Boris.” 

“Boris?”

“The wolf that brought you to me.” The bear-thing...multi-bear?...settled down beside the blankets and started unpacking the bundle. “I’ve been a vegetarian for the last ten years, but Boris seems to think I’m just too useless to hunt. Brings me all sorts of things. I’d train it out of him, but he looks so pleased that I end up praising him instead.” 

“My sister has the same thing with alley cats,” Dipper said weakly. 

“Indeed. I do apologize, I realize that doesn’t make my home quite as sterile as I’d prefer when tending open wounds. But I’d say the medicine did a modest job of resolving those infections. Please.” He gestured toward the bed. Dipper hesitated, then walked over on shaky legs. 

There was _food_. 

Applesauce, peanut butter, a jar of raw honey, bottles and bottles of water, pancakes, pizza. The sauce exploded over his tongue before he’d even realized he’d picked it up. The acid from the tomato burned his throat, but it was still warm and the cheese was thick and greasy and the crust was buttery and he’d never tasted anything better in his whole life. 

“Wait a while,” the bear murmured, when Dipper reached for another slice. “Have a bit of honey. I made a tonic with it while you were asleep, but your body hasn’t had anything solid to eat in over a week.”

“Honey?” Dipper rasped, as the bear handed him the jar and a bottle of water. 

“Along with a few other ingredients. You don’t remember?” 

“I...no…”

The bear nodded. “It’s for the best. You had terrible nightmares.” 

Dipper didn’t know what to say to that. He busied himself with the water, taking small, continuous sips. His throat still hurt, but he realized hadn’t been thirsty when he woke up, not like before. The multibear must have taken care of him this whole time. He couldn’t remember anything about it. Or...maybe he did. He had the vague sense that he’d dreamed ofsomeone laughing at him, at just the right pitch to set his teeth on edge. Had to be his brain’s warped version of Gideon, for sure. That and a hand, rough and warm, pressed to his forehead. He’d dreamed that it was Stan, but it was probably the multibear’s huge paw. Dipper was actually a little bit disappointed. He’d kept his thoughts on Mabel this whole time, but he sort of missed his grunkle. He was annoying, but in a lovable way. Like a Hallmate movie. 

They ate while the BABA cassette played in the background. Eating was exhausting - apparently everything was exhausting - but he felt way better than he had when he landed in the toxic river. The pizza didn’t hurt, either. His stomach seemed to agree. Although he was starting to feel full after just that one slice, which he knew wasn’t normal. And his wrists looked shockingly thin, especially next to the bear’s huge paws...and those stupid cuffs. 

“Can you take these off?” Dipper asked, very quietly, holding up a hand. 

The multibear grimaced. “As much as I would like to, warrior, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to get the leverage I would need without slicing a good bit of your arm. Here.” The bear pushed the applesauce toward him. “Have a spoonful to help you hydrate.”

Dipper lowered his arm. He just...wanted them off. It felt like they were wrapped around his lungs instead of his wrists. 

He breathed out slowly. It was fine. Really. He’d eat and go back to town and get them off and see Mabel and Stan. It would be okay. 

He was reaching for the honey when the cassette’s playlist ended. The radio clicked on, and a new voice filled the air. 

“Hello, friends.”

Dipper froze. His lungs turned to ice. 

“Thank y’all for joining us on Dipperwatch. Ah’d like to give a special shout-out to our town’s protectors, Sheriff Blubs and Officer Durland. Thanks to their contacts in our sister cities, the search has been extended to a hundred-mile radius, along with sending me hourly updates so we can stay informed. Here to tell you more is mah precious dumplin’, the one and only Mabel Pines.”

“Thanks, Gideon.”

He whipped around, staring at the radio. Her voice was strained and a little scratchy, like she had a cold, but that was her, right now she was talking and he was hearing her voice, like she was right there - 

“I just wanted to thank everybody on Dipper’s creepy conspiracy sites. I don’t know how you did it, but working Dipper’s picture into every second frame of the McRonald’s commercial was awesome subliminal messaging. You guys all deserve life-size statues of Abraham Lincoln made entirely of cheesecake.” She paused. “Dipper, if you’re hearing this, we’re looking for you right now. I promise I’ll find you. Wherever you are, whatever happens, I will find you. I love you -”

Her voice broke. The sound gutted him. 

Gideon’s voice came back on. “Please be advised that Dipper Pines has been gone for over fifteen days, in an area surrounded by forests. He may be dehydrated and delusional. If spotted, please call 911 and notify us on mah blog, ‘Li’l Gideon’s Gifts to Mankind.’ We appreciate your support in these troubled times.”

“I take it that young man is Gideon,” the multibear said softly. 

Dipper spun around. He didn’t even remember standing up. “How do you...”

“Nightmares,” The bear reminded him. “This Gideon boy featured quite prominently in all of them.”

Dipper’s hands were trembling. “I have to go back.”

“You're still quite ill. I can see your knees shaking from here.”

“It doesn't – I have to go back.” He leaned heavily against the wall, but rage smouldered in his gut. “Did you hear that? My sister just now? That creep is breaking her heart and using her. _I have to go back._”

“I heard,” the bear said. “But you still need to rest. Just for a couple more days –”

“NO!” Dipper grabbed a sharpened stick from the floor and aimed it at the bear, the base of it anchored on the floor, white-knuckling the wood. “I'm not a prisoner and I'm getting out of here, one way or another!”

The multibear moved the tip of the spear away from his face. “There is no need for that, young warrior,” he said gently. “You were never a prisoner here. If you insist on departing in spite of your health, then I insist on making sure you actually complete the journey. I will take you down the mountain myself.” 

They waited until nightfall. Dipper didn’t want to wait at all, but he agreed that he needed to rest up for the journey, even though the bear would carry him on his back. When they were ready, Dipper put his clothes on over the bark-bandages - they were full of holes, but still better than just his underwear. 

It was scary to realize how weak he’d gotten. The multibear moved steadily over the mountainside, but Dipper had trouble staying on, in spite of the sling the bear made to carry him. Right alongside the fear was embarrassment: Dipper felt like a stupid baby needing that. But he also didn't want to fall off or get caught by the gnomes again, so he gritted his teeth and hung on. Mabel would call it 'channeling his inner koala.'

He missed her so much. 

The pain of it was almost physical, as bad as dying of thirst. And Dipper would know. He was pretty sure he’d actually been dying. He still couldn't wrap his head around that. He wasn't even sure Gideon meant to kill him – probably not, the way he kept bugging Dipper for information on Mabel. But Dipper had nearly died all the same. Just because Gideon was the world's most twisted control freak obsessed with Dipper's sister. Gideon had nearly killed him. 

He would've never seen Mabel again. 

His chest convulsed and he gasped, burying his face in the bear's thick fur. He wasn't hydrated enough to really cry. 

“Alright, warrior?” the bear asked. 

He shook his head, face still pressed into his fur, eyes squeezed shut. 

“Hold on a little longer. We're nearly there already. And as much as it pains my nose to say it, best not to take a hot bath. Humans have the interesting tendency of sweating even in the water, and your sweat glands are unusually active, judging from your...pungency.”

Dipper gave a startled laugh. “You're one to talk.”

“My odor is a healthy musk, I'll have you know.”

“Whatever you say.”

Dipper dozed on and off. Or just passed out, it was hard to tell. The next time he was awake enough to actually qualify as being awake, he recognized the surroundings: this part of the forest was not even half a mile from the Shack. 

He leaned forward and tapped the bear on the shoulder. “Um, is it okay if you drop me off here? Or just - not where my grunkle can see us. I don’t...he doesn’t believe in the supernatural, and he tends to punch first and ask questions later.”

The bear (and three of his side heads) nodded. “As you wish.”

“It really isn’t about hiding you, or anything. Really. My sister Mabel would probably love making a sweater for you, I can introduce you guys later.”

“I look forward to it. We’re here,” the bear added, and Dipper looked up. They were several meters away, but Dipper could see the Shack through the trees, its windows lit up in the moonlight. 

He dismounted awkwardly, mostly with help from the multibear, then stood there in the dark for a few more minutes. The multibear stood with him, calm and reassuring. Like he wasn’t going to leave without some sign that Dipper would be alright without him. 

“Thanks,” Dipper said suddenly, before he knew he was going to say it. Then he winced at how small it sounded. “I mean, you - you saved my life. Thank you.” 

The bear smiled. “I like BABA CDs. If you’re interested in returning the favor, I wouldn’t say no to a new one.” 

“I will buy you a whole frigging music store.”

The bear snorted, then turned to lumber away. In seconds his dark bulk was lost among the shadows. 

Dipper paused for a minute to catch his breath. Then he pushed off the nearest redwood and staggered towards the Shack.


	6. Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, this was supposed to go with Chapter 5, but I broke it in half. That meant this one was already in the works and much faster to churn out, whoohoo!
> 
> Happy Month of Spooky, Everyone!

Stan stared at the vending machine. He’d finally closed the Shack that morning. None of the tourists had found anything, and even Gideon had come up empty-handed, even though he had everybody and their mayor in his pocket.

How the heck did an entire human being disappear like that? He’d had to fake his own death to do it, but somehow the kid had just up and vanished. He’d told him, he’d _told_ him not to mess with the supernatural, but he was sure that was exactly what had happened. At least when Ford got sucked out of the known universe, he’d been a fully functional adult. (Well, mostly functional, based on the guy’s hygiene.) If anybody could survive all the weirdness out there, it was the nerdbot who’d studied it his whole life.

Dipper was just a kid. 

He dragged a hand down his face. Then he grabbed two sodas and went looking for Mabel. She was sitting on the back porch, shoulders hunched around a laptop.

“Whatcha doin’, kiddo?” Stan asked, sitting down beside her.

“Hacking government satellites.” 

“That’s my girl!”

“Yeah, look!” She tilted the screen.

“...I think your battery’s dead.”

“No, silly, I’m using Goggle Planet to scan the Gravity Falls forest. It only looks black because it’s nighttime and you can’t see anything.”

“Uh-huh. Did you make extra Mabel Juice behind my back again?”

“I’m looking for campfires,” she said, turning it back. “Dipper knows how to build one for signaling aliens. Look for anything vaguely occult-shaped.”

“Kid…”

“Also! Remember that local kook we totally ditched you for? Well it turns out he taught us a valuable lesson on using giant robots as emotional outlets, and he’s helping Candy hack into government satellites right this second to aim infrared cameras at the forest. It’s gonna come through anyAAAAAH!”

Stan jumped, but apparently the scream was a good thing, because Mabel was now scrolling avidly through a black screen peppered with little orange pixels. 

He leaned forward. “What’s that, is it him?”

“Hang on, zooming in!”

The pixels were now slightly bigger orange blobs, but even he could tell none of them were human. They were way too small or animal-shaped. He even thought he saw the gnome colony in there - either that or a bunch of gophers in party hats. He glanced at Mabel, but she scrolled right on past like she hadn’t even noticed. She reached the end of the forest in about two minutes. He could tell because she finally did land on two human-sized shapes, but it was just him and Mabel. Even Gompers wasn’t around.

“Okay, I went too fast. Lemme do it again.”

She did. Went through the whole thing even slower, her cheeks all puffed out and her eyes too bright. Stan remembered the sodas he’d been holding and set them down, slowly. Then he waited until she’d scanned the whole thing again. And again. And again.

“He’s here though,” Mabel said, her voice cracking. “I know he is, I’m just - I’m missing him, I know he’s here, he has to be…”

“He’s probably, uh, in a cave or something,” Stan said, waving a hand. “Yeah, I mean, they’re pretty good at hiding body heat from cops. Which I have never needed to do after stealing a golden chicken. Look, he’ll probably come out of his cave or whatever tomorrow, we can just try it then - aw, kid.”

He pulled the laptop away and mopped up the tears in the keyboard with his undershirt, then set it to one side. Mabel didn’t even turn her head. Her shoulders bowed. What little he could see of her skin was an ashy gray. Stan wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“Hey, Dipper’s still out there. You said it yourself, you woulda felt it if he wasn’t - heck, _I_ woulda felt it if he wasn’t. You think the kid would lose out on a chance to get even after all those chores? He’d haunt me like crazy and whack me with my own bat!” He rubbed his chin. “Actually that would make a pretty good attraction…”

Mabel half-choked and elbowed him. Then her face crumpled. Huge tears spilled down her cheeks. Her head dropped to her knees and she bawled.

Stan rubbed slow circles on her back. He knew exactly how she felt - and what kind of creeps prowled deserted roads at night. What if one of _them_ had grabbed Dipper? How were they supposed to find him? He could be miles out of reach. 

His eyes slid back to the screen. He started. There was a new shape, a big one, heading right for the Shack -

A bear. Just a bear.

The realization crushed him. It took a minute before he pulled himself together enough to hear Mabel talking through her tears.

“I just want him to be okay,” she said over and over. “Please, please, let him be okay…”

Stan swallowed past the tightness in his throat. “Come on, pumpkin. Let’s head inside.”

“No! What if Dipper comes and we’re not here?!”

“Look.” He pulled back some of her hair so he could see her face. She wasn’t even wearing her headband anymore, when did _that_ happen? “Mabel, you, me, ‘n’ Dipper all know how this is gonna end. It’s gonna end with us finding Dipper, period. But you gotta come inside and get some sleep. One internet vampire in this family is enough.”

She scrubbed at her face and dragged herself upright. “Just five more minutes, Grunkle Stan.”

He sighed. He’d only said the same thing about a million times, he knew how that was gonna go. 

He smooshed her head down in a b=noogie. “Who told you you could take after me, huh? You’re stubborn, that’s your problem.”

“Pff, Grunkle Stan.”

“I’ll get the sleeping bags, huh?”

Her head jerked up. “You mean it?”

“Yeah. We’ll do a Dipperwatch, live and in person. Scrambled meat and everything.”

“Grunkle Stan, I love you but eating that is a fate worse than getting memed and if you make it I will stuff it in your favorite chair and feel zero remorse forever.”

“That is cruel and unusual, I’m impressed.”

She half-smiled. “Pass me the laptop?”

He handed it over. The sofa was gonna kill his back. Maybe he could drag his chair out here. He fell asleep in it all the time anyway.

“What’s that?” she asked suddenly.

“Just a bear,” he said, getting up. Yeah, the chair would work.

“But the bear’s the one going the other way.”

“What?”

“There, look!” She grabbed his arm and jabbed at the screen. “See? Bear, not-Bear! Grunkle Stan, there’s something coming toward -”

There was a rustling from the trees and they looked up.

Dipper stumbled out of the woods. 

There was a split-second, like a photograph in Dipper’s mind, where he saw them on the porch in perfect clarity. Then his head banged on the ground because Mabel had rocketed straight towards him and was hugging him like she'd never let go. 

“DIPPER! DIPPER DIPPER DIPPER DIPPER DIPPER DIPPER –”

“Can't breathe,” he wheezed. 

“Kid!” 

Stan's face appeared over him and Dipper stared up, vaguely shocked. Stan had shadows under his eyes so deep they looked like bruises. He grabbed Dipper's shoulder and pulled him into a sitting position, kneeling, searching his face. 

“Sweet Moses, Dipper, you look like roadkill! The heck happened to you!?”

Dipper opened his mouth and suddenly the world tilted like it was trying to slide him off. Ringing filled his ears. 

“Dizzy,” he managed. 

“Mabel, back up a sec.”

“Nu-uh, I'm not letting go for the next million years.”

“Just help me get him into the Shack.”

Dipper's vision was spotted with little bursts of pixelated color. He felt Stan and Mabel each loop an arm around him and help him up. He was almost positive he passed out a couple of times crossing the lawn, because he remembered his feet moving, but then he was lying on the kitchen floor, his head in Mabel's lap, Stan shoving an open can of soup up to his face. 

“That's it kid, drink it up. Just ignore the expiration date. What's a week or five, am I right?”

Mabel brushed the hair out of his face. He looked up and felt little drops of wet sprinkling his cheeks. 

“Mabel,” he breathed. 

She cried harder, but she was smiling through her tears. “I’m right here, bro-bro.” 

“Seriously, kid, you gotta eat something, are those _handcuffs?_” 

Dipper drank rather than answer. Finally, _finally,_ he was back, he was home. He never wanted to get up again. 

“Easy, kiddo.” He felt Stan’s hand brush at his cheek. He didn’t even know he’d been crying. He closed his eyes and turned into the touch. 

“I missed you,” he whispered. “Mabel...Grunkle Stan…”

“We missed you, too, Dipper,” Mabel whispered. “I was so scared, Dipper, everyone was so scared. We looked everywhere for you. Gideon -” 

“No!” His eyes flew open and he jerked, shoving at Stan, spilling soup all over his shirt. 

“Hey! Dipper what the heck?”

“Gideon!” Dipper gritted out. He struggled to sit up. Mabel helped, bracing her hands against his back. “This whole thing is Gideon’s fault! He kidnapped me at his factory, he locked me in the basement with no food or water! I got really dehydrated and when I finally escaped I ended up in the sewers and got infections because he’d sliced me up with scissors!” He raised his left arm for them to see. The bandages had fallen off and the cuts stood out in angry red slashes against his skin. 

The house rang with silence. 

“_What_,” Stan said, and Dipper almost flinched. He’d never heard that tone before, from anyone, ever. 

“But why?” Mabel whispered. She was chalk-white. “Why would he – do that?”

“Because he blamed me for your breakup.” Dipper leaned back on his arms, blinking hard. He was starting to get dizzy again. “When he was...holding me, he kept asking me for stuff about you so he could make you like him. I wouldn't tell him anything, so he didn’t give me anything to eat or drink. Just ate stuff right in front of me. And he had me cuffed right next to this really hot air conditioner. I tried to get out, but – uh, whoa...”

“Lie down before you pass out,” Stan said, grabbing Dipper's shoulders and lowering him down. “We're taking you to the hospital.”

The image of a surgeon's tray flashed in front of his eyes, blades laid out like waiting teeth. 

“Don't,” Dipper choked out. “Please, Grunkle Stan, don’t.”

“'Don't'?! Kid, you look half-dead!”

“I'm fine,” he said, even though his head was pounding and he felt like he was going to throw up. “Grunkle Stan, I could hear it when everyone searched the factory over my head.”

Mabel gasped. “We were that close –”

“_Yes_. And you still didn't find anything. No one's going to believe Gideon was behind this. We don't need alibis, we need proof.”

Stan growled. “Fine. Gotta be security tapes somewhere, right? Or – fingerprints, or something?”

Mabel's fingers brushed feather-light over his cuts and Dipper knew what she was thinking. 

“There won't be proof,” he said heavily. “Nothing fingerprints on the scissors or anything else. Gideon's bolo tie. It's a magic amulet. Everything he did to me, he did using the amulet. He can move things with it. Didn't have to touch anything at all.”

“We'll figure it out later,” Mabel said, her voice tight with worry. “Dipper, you really need to go to the hospital.”

“Not yet.”

Stan sputtered. “Seriously? I like avoiding a hospital bill as much as the next guy, but the way you look, they'll probably waive the fee anyway!”

“No. We – we can go afterward. If we have to. But not yet. I need to look like this to pull it off.”

“Pull what off? Right now you couldn't pull a petal off a daisy!”

“Not alone. We're going to need Soos. And Toby Determined.”

“What are you talking about?” Mabel asked. 

Pieces of a plan were starting to come together in Dipper's head. He opened his eyes and looked at them. 

“Even if he wasn't trying to, Gideon almost killed me. So...let's make him think he did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene where Dipper came home was actually the first scene I wrote of this entire fic. Finally the sweet, sweet moment of comfort has arrived!!


	7. It Ends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry finishing this took so long!! There were THINGS. 
> 
> Oh quick thing, Gideon scares off a cat, it's quick and I promise the cat is NOT hurt at ALL. 
> 
> And now, angst/happy ending!

Gideon stomped down the street, muttering furiously under his breath. It was long past midnight, these accursed late hours were not helping his complexion, and he _still_ couldn’t find that stupid boy anywhere! 

He stopped at the corner and glared at the town in general. Main Street was dead quiet this time of night, all the useless sheep of the city tucked away in their stupid little hovels, every store closed and shuttered – as if that could keep him out. He’d combed the entire town twice over in the last three days alone. He’d pried open every shut door, unlatched every window, all with his amulet so as to leave no sign of suspicious activity. 

Well, almost no sign. Yesterday he’d taken Greasy Diner’s whole dumpster and upturned it, smashing it over and over against the grass until every blade gleamed with bacon grease and the used napkins looked like a dirty snowdrift. 

It had been such a simple plan. Kidnap dipper. Woo Mabel. “Rescue” Dipper – after ensuring the boy would keep his mouth shut. And then he’d walked on down to his little ol’ dungeon, only to find a hole in the ground instead of a properly petrified prisoner! Gideon had been in such a state he’d actually jumped down the hole himself and landed in the sewer! His suit and hair had been absolutely ruined. Dipper did it that way on purpose, he was sure, and he fully expected the little brat to show up at the Shack, whining about Gideon like he was somehow the bad guy for wanting to get closer to his precious darling. 

And he _would_ show up eventually. The boy was like a bad penny. No, Gideon had to find him first, had to get him under control. He could practically feel the little fool plotting against him, but after using all of his considerable influence and resources, Gideon hadn’t managed to find so much as a single hair from Dipper’s oversized head. 

“Where are you?” he growled, stalking down the sidewalk. “WHERE ARE YOU?!” 

_Mrow?_

He glared around. A kitten was poking its head out from the nearest alley. He grabbed his amulet. 

One thrown trashcan later, the cat was scooting away in fear, and Gideon felt marginally better. He resumed his march down the street. It didn’t matter how well Dipper hid. Gideon had his fingers in every pie – and his eyes in every pin worn by his vapid followers. This was Gideon’s town. He owned it, every part of it, and he would find Dipper and make sure he – 

“_Gideon…_”

The voice was faint. He almost didn’t notice it. But he did, and he recognized it. His lip curled in an ugly smile. 

He stopped, casually, one hand straightening his coat. “Dipper. Ah knew you’d crawl out here eventually.”

A cold breath of air whispered down the street, far colder than seemed possible on a summer night. 

“Ah hope you’ve learned your lesson about keeping me from mah precious dumplin’. But then again, Ah’m a patient teacher. Ah’m sure we could do a few reviews.”

Silence. 

Gideon lost his patience. “Show yourself, or Ah’ll rip you out of whatever hole you crawled into this time!”

Dipper’s voice came from all around him, echoey, overlapping, distant. “_I’m still there, Gideon. I never left._” 

There was a flash of light behind him and he whirled around. The Arcade, silent, dark. A slow, shark-like grin widened in Gideon’s face. The Arcade. Of course, the Arcade. He stepped toward it slowly, quietly. Little fool had been hiding there all along – plenty of nooks and crannies, and no one would be there if everyone was out somewhere else looking for him. Too bad he’d set off one of the games just now. Too bad those games were so heavy. And so _terribly_ unbalanced. A boy could get crushed under one of them, if he wasn’t careful. 

There was another brief flash. Gideon couldn’t see the source of the light, but it lit the entire inside of the building for a split-second, and Dipper was standing in the middle of the games. Gideon grabbed his amulet. A Break-it-Bob smashed into the floor with a metallic squeal right where Dipper had been standing. 

But he wasn’t there anymore. 

Gideon stepped up to the window, squinting. The street lamp behind him was too bright. He put his hand up to the glass to shield his eyes. 

The light flashed again and Dipper was standing on the other side of the glass, head down and practically nose-to-nose with Gideon. 

He gave a startled shriek and jumped back. A sound down the street made him turn. There was Dipper, the little brat, standing with his back to Gideon not half a block away. Of course, Gideon must’ve just seen his reflection in the mirror. 

The street lamp came down like a ten-ton hammer, the bulb shattering, the concrete head biting deep into the sidewalk. 

Again, Dipper was gone. 

“You little – where are you!?”

“_I never left. _” 

The whisper should not have been that loud. But it was, like someone had amplified it, and the echoes rebounded and distorted until it sounded like dozens of chainsaws scraping themselves raw against barbed wire. The windows rattled and Gideon clapped both hands to his ears. Finally he gave a scream and grabbed his bolo tie. Every window on the street shattered. 

The sound cut off. The night was still once again, the silence broken only by Gideon’s ragged breathing. He was still clenching his bolo tie in one sweaty fist, looking around wildly. 

“You think you can best me with tacky sound effects?” he shouted. “Think you can scare me?! I’ll show you what scared looks like, you rotten little –”

_BANG! _

A manhole in the street suddenly burst straight up, propelled by a thick jet of foul-smelling waste. Gideon leaped back and only narrowly avoided getting specks of sludge on his suit. Perfect. Just what he needed. No doubt there was a leaky pipe somewhere. Honestly, did the Mayor even do anything in this town? And Dipper had probably used the distraction to get away. 

_BANG! BANG! BANG! _

He yelped and scrambled away as fast as he could on his short little legs. More geysers?! This had to be Dipper’s doing, that slug had wormed his way down into the sewers to start with and now he was using them to try and ruin Gideon’s perfect suit!

He dug in his heels and grabbed his tie, but its power didn’t work the same on things he couldn’t see. Even sealing the manholes didn’t work. Sewage water just rushed out of the rain gutters like a tide of slime. He tried floating, but it was much harder to think of his body as an object, and he ended up landing in the middle of a fish-bone puddle – him, the town darling, with his shoes covered in fish guts!

He was forced to run like some filthy commoner, running from street to street and dodging geysers left and right. Wait – there, the road to his factory! No manholes on that road. Let Dipper try his little trick now!

Gideon made it to the factory doors and threw himself inside. He turned and pulled the doors shut firmly behind him. Something like a half-laugh, half-snarl climbed up his throat. Fresh venom pumped through his veins. That – that hat Dipper had actually forced him to retreat. That scrawny, impudent, stupid little – 

“_Gideon. _” 

He whirled around. 

“YOU!” 

Dipper was standing on the other side of the room, in front of the window, backlit by the moon. He was facing away. Like Gideon was nothing. Like he was something to be ignored. 

“How DARE you make a fool out of me!” Gideon bellowed. There was very little left in the factor aside from a few tables and the heavy bookshelf over the cellar, but Gideon grabbed the nearest table with his powers and hurled it at Dipper like a massive boomerang. It shot straight through the window with a crash of shattered glass, but Dipper didn’t so much as move. 

“You little brat!” Gideon hurled a second table. 

That’s when he noticed that Dipper wasn’t standing on the desk. His feet were hanging in the air at least a foot above it. Then the table was soaring through the air – 

_And it went straight through Dipper’s body. _

“_Gideon, _” Dipper whispered. 

Gideon back up fast and banged his head on the door. “This – this is some kinda trick, you’re playin’ a trick on me!” 

Dipper slowly raised a hand, the broken cuff glinting on his wrist. 

Gideon screamed and spun around, but the doors slammed shut. He shook the handle furiously. Then he grabbed his amulet and shoved enough power at the door to rip it from its hinges. The door didn’t so much as rattle, like it had become part of the wall, penning him in. 

Something cold touched his back. 

He shrieked and flung himself away, hand still on his amulet. He landed so he was crouched ten feet up on the nearest wall.

The room was empty. 

The temperature dropped so fast Gideon could see his breath. His eyes darted around. His hand was shaking almost too much to hold the amulet, but he couldn’t let it go, not now, it was his only hope of rescue. The window – if he could make it to the window, he could fly to safety, he could – 

Dipper appeared two inches from Gideon’s face and the next thing he knew he was on the ground, gasping, having flung himself so hard against the ceiling that he ricocheted back down. Dipper was still floating in midair, right where Gideon had been seconds before. He turned, slowly, so slowly, and Gideon felt the cold of the factory floor seep into his bones. Dipper’s eyes were empty sockets, twin scoops of pure black. 

“_You killed me, _” Dipper whispered. 

“Ah – Ah didn’t kill you!” Gideon squeaked. “Ah b-brought you food – you could’ve eaten it – you were just too stubborn to –”

A bolt of lightning cracked straight down the middle of the room. Gideon screamed, blinded. Unseen fingers clawed at his neck. He fell to the floor sobbing. When he looked up Dipper was floating barely two feet in front of him. He raised a hand again, slowly, so slowly, and pointed it straight at Gideon’s heart. 

“_What happened to me, Gideon?_” 

“Ah’m sorry, don’t, Ah didn’t –”

“_ANSWER ME!_” 

“THE CELLAR!” Gideon screamed. “I threw you in the cellar!” 

“_Why couldn’t I get out?_”

“Ah handcuffed you to the pipe!” 

“_Was there food in the cellar? Was there water?_” 

“No –”

“_You starved me!_”

“Ah didn’t – Ah wasn’t! There was food! Ah said you could eat if you told me about Mabel!” 

“_What happened when I refused?_” 

Gideon screamed when a light switch exploded. “Scissors! I used scissors!” 

“_HOW LONG, GIDEON?!_” Dipper’s face suddenly filled the whole factory. Leaves, twigs, and splintered wood flew in a hurricane through his translucent flesh, which flickered and twisted with a terrible blue light. Dipper’s mouth opened wide and his teeth were the white fires of hell. “_HOW LONG WERE YOU GOING TO LET ME DIE?! NOW I’LL NEVER SEE MABEL AGAIN!_”

“I’M SORRY! PLEASE! SPARE ME! I’LL MAKE IT RIGHT! I’LL TELL HER WHAT HAPPENED, AH PROMISE, PLEASE –”

“He already did.” 

The wind died abruptly and all the debris came crashing down. A larger piece of bookshelf struck the floor by Gideon’s hand and he scrambled backwards with a gasp. Then he looked up. 

The factory doors were open. His precious dumplin’ was standing in the doorway, little ballerina feet spread wide, glaring daggers at him. Behind her were the two police buffoons, Toby Determined, and the entire Corduroy clan, wearing identical expressions of loathing. 

“M-Mabel?” he squeaked. 

Then she stepped back, and Gideon’s stomach shriveled to ash. 

“Evening, Gideon,” Dipper said. “Nice night for a haunting, isn’t it?” 

Gideon was arrested on the spot. The entire town had witnessed Gideon’s confession, thanks to the cameras hidden around town and inside the factory. The Corduroys stayed between Dipper and Gideon until Blubbs shoved the little psycho in the cop car. Dipper, who had been leaning heavily against the factory wall, finally felt his knees give and sank to the ground. 

Immediately a warm hand pressed on his back, rubbing in slow circles. 

“You okay, bro?” 

He nodded, eyes closed. “Yeah. Tired.” 

“I would be, too. But those holograph projections looked _awesome!_ We totally gotta do a sock puppet opera now, Dipper! We’re masters of special effects! Also when you’re feeling up to it we gotta visit the lizards again. I promised them more Mabel Popcorn. Good thing I know all about reptile snacking habits from Grenda!” 

He gave a weak laugh. 

The plan, as he’d told Stan and Mabel, had been to make recordings of Dipper and then project his image holographically where they thought Gideon would be most likely to show up. Then they needed a way to herd Gideon to the factory. Talking to the alligators had been…terrifying. Even with Mabel right next to him, bribing them with caramel-and-froot-loop popcorn. Stan had ended up doing most of the talking, since Dipper was close to blacking out with panic.   
Then they’d gone to Toby borrow as many cameras as he owned to record Gideon’s confession in the factory. For that part, Dipper’s holographic projections had been live, not recorded. They’d needed to make sure Gideon would actually confess to what he did. And they needed him distracted. 

“Did you get it off him?” he asked Mabel. 

“Yeah, look.” She opened her hand. The amulet lay on her palm like a glittering drop of venom. She’d grabbed it off of Gideon when the lights had gone out. She took a breath and threw it down, hard. It shattered to pieces. 

He stared at the shards. He’d spent days under the power of that awful amulet. And now it just…lay there. He didn’t realize how small it was. Something that could hurt so bad shouldn’t be so small. His throat was tight. 

A cool hand touched Dipper’s wrist and he jumped. 

“Relax,” Wendy said gently. 

“Sorry.”

“’S cool, man.” She held up a pair of heavy-duty cutters. “Alright if I get those cuffs off you now? Blubs took pictures of them already, right?” 

“Yeah. Please.” 

“How was the finale, doods?” 

Dipper and Mabel looked up to see Soos and Stan coming up the hill, carrying the rest of the special effects stuff in boxes. 

“A success,” Mabel said. She pointed to the cop car, where Gideon’s disheveled white hair was just visible in the car’s rear windows. 

“_Good,_” Stan snarled.

“Other wrist,” Wendy said, and Dipper handed it over. He hadn’t even notice her do the first one. He stared at how her fingers wrapped around his. Mostly so he wouldn’t have to look at the pliers. They were metal and sharp and shiny. Don’t. Her fingers, right. So soft and rough at the same time. He could feel the callouses, but he could also smell…lotion? Something flowery. And she was warm. 

“Hey, hey – it’s off, okay? They’re off, I’m done.” 

“Okay,” he croaked. She brushed something wet off his face, felt Mabel squeeze his hand. 

Stan knelt in front of him. “Alright kid, we did your stupid stunt, now let’s get you to a hospital. You’re about three missed meals away from actually being a ghost, and I only do fake attractions, not real ones.” 

Wendy nodded. “Yeah. I told Lazy Susan to distract Toby with a piece of string, but eventually Seandra’s gonna get here, and she’ll want to interview you. And the cops will want a statement. Since there’s depressingly nothing else to do in this town, you’re going to get a lot more attention than you probably want from everybody.”

Dipper winced. “But the cops and Toby already took my statement.” 

“Dude. Toby brought ten fully-charged tape recorders and he will come back for seconds. Even a string can’t keep him away forever.” 

“Noted.”

“Just – I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” She bent down like she was going to ruffle his hair, but wrapped an arm around him instead. She smelled like vanilla and woodsmoke and jerky. “I’m glad you’re back, man,” she said into his hair, and then she was trotting away, making weird sniffling noises as she joined her family in keeping the growing crowd at bay. 

“We should probably get going,” Mabel said. 

“I could carry you to the hospital if you’re tired,” Soos offered. “Oh! I could do an arm throne! Does an arm throne need seatbelts? Would my arms also count as seatbelts?”

“Can we just go home?” Dipper asked Stan hopefully. 

Stan hesitated. “Kid…” 

“Please.”

Stan dragged both hands down his face. “Fine. _Fine._ But if you pass out even _one time_ I am using your skinny nerd self as a haunted scarecrow attraction. _After_ I guilt twelve doctors into paying $40 just for the chance to treat you.” 

“Literally how would that even work,” Dipper said, lips twitching. “I just – I’m fine. Really.” 

“Nah, you’re not.” He reached down and grabbed Dipper’s arm, pulling him to his feet. “But you will be, kid. I promise.” 

Dipper wrapped his arms around Stan’s neck. The rough wire of Stan’s curls scraped his cheek. He felt Mabel take hold of his shirt, and Soos came up to Stan’s other side. Dipper closed his eyes, exhausted, safe, as his family carried him home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't find a good place to work this in, but Gompers had the journal and his vest all along. Dipper found all three of them up on the roof when they got back. 
> 
> Also, Stan agreed to let townsfolk visit the Local Lost Boy at the cost of fifty bucks and a Baba CD. The CD was at Dipper's insistence. Two weeks later, virtually an entire music store filled a certain cave with wall-to-wall mall music. The multibear who owned it was very happy indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> If there are any triggers I missed, PLEASE let me know. I don't normally write something this dark and I want to make sure I help everyone take care of themselves.


End file.
